You'll live with Ghosts
by halsteadsass
Summary: Jay gets himself into a situation and helps him the only way she knows how.


It never gets easier.

Time doesn't suddenly turn on a switch inside of your head that signals you its ok to pull the trigger. Ten million nerve pulses radiating through your arm as the shock kicks you back is not something you desire. Nothing inside of your heart begs you to release the built up tension in your shaking finger. So you hold your breath and you wait. Somewhere deep inside of you prays that you won't have to bring the world to their knees.

When those days come, and they come often, nothing keeps you safe from yourself.

"Halstead, debrief now." Voight's voice distracted her from her own racing thoughts.

From the technical side of her job, she knew the rules. After a shooting, no one goes home until the big wigs get the full statement of what happened. It isn't a quick meeting like they usually show on television. No, it usually takes anywhere from two to four hours because of the constant firing of questions. It's fucking hell and no one likes to deal with internal affairs. They sit on their high horse pretending to be your number one supporter when all they really want is to find a loose string. A piece they can pull to watch the whole team unravel with secrets that don't exist. Internal affairs wasn't what was really bothering her.

It was the fact that Hank would make exceptions for everyone else on this team except for Jay.

It really made the rage inside of her grow. Enough was enough. He was as subtle as a brick.

Jay is one of the strongest people she knows, but even the strong have their breaking points. Here he was barely a shadow of himself. He was caked in another man's blood, his hair stained a deep red, and his eyes lacking any luster. They were sullen taking on a new color she never wanted to see. A dull cloudy grey to match his once grey shirt. A deep cut sliced in a nearly straight line decorating the cheek she peppered soft kisses all over just this morning. She watches as his breath hitches in the back of his throat trying to hide the pain that racks his body. The way his feet are shuffling across the slick floor makes her know he's on autopilot.

Her mouth goes dry and she feels like she might be sick. She wanted to look away, but her eyes were glued to him. Maybe it's because this wouldn't have happened if she went inside with him. Maybe she shouldn't have listened to Jay when he said he could handle it. It was one of his close friends and the logic there was simple. Jay was someone who Derek Connors trusted. Someone who could convince him to get the help he needed. It was only supposed to be a well-being checkup, an in and out type of thing.

There were so many factors that could contribute to the reason why it went south.

She could blame him. She could blame herself.

In the end, what difference did it make?

It only took twenty minutes.

 _It was what it was._

The sky was dark, void of any stars that would illuminate it and she thought it was quite fitting. As she closed her apartment door behind them, she let go of a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. The car ride was extremely silent except for the fears etched in the creases of his forehead. They were loud and she wished they would go back to wherever they came from.

She knows exactly where they came from.

It was like going into your attic for the first time in years. Dusty boxes laid in a neat and organized fashion. Everything is labeled in a precise manner except for one box. Naturally, curiosity is an itch you have to scratch so you open it. Inside you find your old cd player allowing yourself to feel the surge of excitement. It's a blur after that with you rushing to put on the headphones so you can press play to listen to the mix tape laying inside. As soon as you press play, you almost immediately regret it. It's a song that reminds you of a dark time you didn't want to remember. Its blasting words, feelings, and situations that can't erased from your skin, no matter how much you try.

That's the problem with trying. There's a chance you can _fail._

He spent the whole time staring out the window. What was once comfortable silence was now suffocating the life out of her. A heavy burden on her chest that wouldn't leave her alone because there was nothing she could do. The decision was already made at that point. She wasn't going to let him go home by himself. Hell no. She might not be able to help him the way he deserves to be helped but she would be damned if she didn't try at all.

No matter how much seeing him like this ate at her insides.

"I'm going to go take a shower." He says while taking off his jacket before hanging it up on one of her kitchen chairs. He doesn't bother to wait for a reply before moving in the direction of the bathroom.

She answers him anyway. "Ok. I'll get you a clean tee-shirt and sweat pants for when you are done. Is there anything else you need?"

"No." he shakes his head, "Thank you for this."

She tries to smile but she isn't sure you can even call it that. "Don't thank me for something you would do for me in a heartbeat." He's standing in the bathroom doorway kicking off his boots. God, even his socks had blood on them. Her hands slide to the back of her neck, taking as deep of a breath as she can manage as he shuts the door to go scrub the demons away.

She wasn't going to cry.

She wasn't.

He has his own space inside of her dresser now, her bathroom, her living room, even her kitchen. Every inch of her apartment reminds her of him. When she first noticed his dirty laundry in her hamper, his mugs littered in her sink, his favorite dark purple fleece blanket decorating the back of her couch, and his razor placed right next to hers she had to think about when it happened.

To this day, she doesn't know or question it.

She's afraid if she does, he'll take everything back to his own apartment and her home won't really feel like home anymore.

Before she knew it, forty five minutes had passed in between her calming herself down, straightening up, and getting changed herself. His clothes are tucked under her left arm as she makes her way to the bathroom. She picked a simple black combination although she probably should have picked something brighter. White would have been perfect if she didn't feel so unclean.

She opens the door to find complete silence except for shallow breaths he's making from behind the curtain. Her eyes scan over the room and she doesn't see his dirty clothes on the ground. The only evidence of him being in there at all is the towel laying on top of the sink counter. She puts his clothes down in the same area before making her way across the bathroom as quickly as she can. When she pulls back the curtain, he's sitting there in the water fully clothed, dried blood still all over him, staring up at the ceiling.

"Jay." She says softly as she starts to kneel next to him. When he doesn't make the effort to make eye contact with her, she reaches out to his face. She moves his chin toward her searching for anything. All she finds is desperation staring back at her. He's caught in quicksand, sinking faster then she could pull him out of it…not that she knows how to without getting stuck herself.

The ice cold water feels like pins and needles on her skin as she flips the bath plug down. The water starts to drain from the tub as she starts to tug him to stand up. "C'mon, you have to get out. You can't sit in here like this." She doesn't have the manpower to lift him up without his help and right now he was dead weight.

He replies nonchalantly, "I'm going to get your floor all wet."

Is he serious right now? She narrows her eyes at him in disbelief. Her lips part as she's ready to answer him but she stops herself. One of his closest friends died today, is sitting like a zombie inside of her shower, can barely say a full sentence to her, and he's worried about her damn floor.

"I don't care if my floor gets wet. What I care about is you. So please." She said in a tone that she hope didn't sound too exasperated. This time when she goes to help him out, he stands up without protest. He steps over the ledge using her to help himself balance. Every inch of the sopping wet clothing shrinks to the shape of his body. He's standing there biting his bottom lip to stop from shivering.

It reminds her of the first time she had to use her gun. There was nothing that could change her train of thought. Her mind was stuck replaying the scene like a broken record in her mind. But she didn't want to think about that now. There was only room for one dark imagination in this room and it wasn't hers.

She started with his shirt, peeling it up over his chiseled chest. Being taller than her, he bent forward slightly so she could remove it completely. Her fingers brushed against his lower abdomen, feeling his muscles tighten involuntarily as she unbuttoned his jeans. She pushed them down off his hips along with his boxer briefs leaving them bunched around his ankles. He quickly kicked them away as she laced her fingers with his. Her grip was firm yet gentle.

She gets in first. She's still completely dressed but she doesn't care. It doesn't seem to bother him as he follows her pulling the curtain closed. She puts the water closer to hot than warm because maybe it will melt away the sins of today. She fills her hand with a quarter sized portion of shampoo into her palm, "Lean your head back." He leans his head back as her fingers become tangled in between the strands. She massages his scalp, gently scraping her nails along the way making a groan of contentment escape from his lips. She repeats the process with the conditioner and she's hoping she might be getting somewhere.

Taking care of him for once, instead of him always taking care of her. She grabs his loofa that's hanging right next to hers and his dove's men body wash. She loves the smell of it, of him. She starts gliding it in a circular motion on his back and she instantly sees the tension in his shoulders loosen. She continues until his whole backside and front side is free of the remnants today left on him.

She's still looking at a man made up of broken glass. Sharp, fractured, somehow still pieced together, and that a tiny piece of that shattered glass is stuck in her skin. She thinks it's going to leave a mark.

It already did.

There's something in the way he looks at her…touches her. A hidden thank you as he grips her shoulders, slides his calloused hands along her neck, gripping her face as his lips crash against hers.

 _It bruises._

Its 4 am when he tells her what happened.

He finally fell asleep around midnight with his head in her lap, sprawled across the couch while watching friend's reruns. Every inch of her was tired yet when she tried to fall asleep, it was near impossible. There was a need to make sure he was ok inside of her. Watching as his chest heaved in and out, his jaw loosen and his furrowed brows now relaxed made her feel better.

He sighs loudly, "Derek didn't want to listen." He had to tell her. He owed her that. He had the blood on his hands and she was simply pulled into the madness. It was borrowed time anyway. Sooner or later, the hat was going to drop. It's not that they never talked about his time in the army. They did. She asked, he answered. He wasn't ashamed of the choices he made. He felt guilty for the choices he couldn't control. A darkness that made him lose his way once or twice.

She grabbed the remote pressing down on the volume button until it hummed ever so loudly. He needed to know that he had her full attention. She promised herself earlier that she wouldn't push him to tell her anything. He would do so in his own time. Assuming rightfully, it would be at a much later time and date.

"He swung, he connected, and it happened so fast. He was always better at fighting. I guess when you grow up with a fucked up older brother, you learn a few things." He shakes his head at that thought. The stories Derek would tell him while they were bunk mates made his head spin. "Techniques the army doesn't teach you." He was envious of Derek. Even more so, for his high rankings in the academy. He knew where to give credit, where credit was due. He was not one to bottle up his feelings and age them like fine wine in his cellar.

His body had shifted so he was no longer on his side. Her body creating a shadow across his face as he looked up at her. She let her fingers trail the outside of the open slash on his cheek. "It was a pocketknife. By the time I saw it, the damage had already been done." He admits, reading her every thought like an open book. "It escalated pretty quickly from there. We both ended up on the ground. Scrambling to try and get any footing we could."

It's funny how things go down. It's so funny that nobody's laughing. Jay told her that he had friends with post-traumatic stress disorder. Derek was one from that list. It was the reason for the well-being checkup because he hadn't showed up to see the psychologist. A personal friend of theirs who had let Jay know the deal.

It makes her scared for Jay more than she lets on.

"He was on top of me at this point. He got the jump on my gun and before I could grab it…" he closes his eyes reliving the moment inside of his head. He whispers as his eyes slowly open, "Bang." Thunder that cracked across every fiber of his being. He feels like he can't breathe, "His lifeless body dropped onto of me. I could feel the blood dripping from every surface of my face. " All these stones tied to his chest and he can't get out from under them. "I froze." His body didn't want to listen to his head leaving his limbs paralyzed.

She tries to fight the tears that are building in her eyes. When she heard the gunshots her heart sank into her stomach. When she safely made it into the house, the smell of iron was strong in the air. She recognized it right away. She remembers yelling his name which was against protocol for clearing a house. She threw protocol out the window. The panic bubbling inside of her, guiding her moves until she found them in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

He reaches up to wipe the trailing tears that have fallen, "Please don't cry."

Swallowing thickly, "I'm sorry." Her voice is trembling now and she hates how much more raspy it gets. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let you go inside by yourself." She leans forward resting her forehead on his. "I promise you'll never be alone again."

So on another night when the stars all die, she'll be the flares.

 _His flares._


End file.
